Saturday arrived too quickly and not quickly enough.
I'd spent the morning in a state of low-grade panic, the afternoon being primped and styled by François and his team of assistants, and the early evening staring at myself in the mirror and wondering who the hell that person was.
The suit fit perfectly, my hair had been styled in a way that made me look sophisticated instead of like I'd just rolled out of bed, even my shoes were expensive, real leather, polished to a shine that could probably blind someone.
I looked like I belonged at a charity gala.
I absolutely did not belong at a charity gala.
"Stop fidgeting," Azryth said from the doorway.
I turned, and forgot how to breathe.
He was in a tuxedo, not just any tuxedo, a perfectly tailored, probably cost-more-than-a-car tuxedo that made him look like he'd stepped out of a magazine spread about unattainably attractive people.
His hair was styled back, his bow tie was perfect, he looked every inch the powerful CEO, the demon lord, the man who commanded rooms with his presence alone.
"You look..." I couldn't finish the sentence.
"Presentable," he supplied, moving into the room. "You look acceptable as well."
Acceptable, yeah, that's definitely what I was going for.
He reached up, adjusting my bow tie with practiced efficiency, his fingers brushed my neck, and the binding flared.
"Nervous?" he asked quietly.
"Terrified."
"Good, channel that into focus." His hands moved to my shoulders, straightening my jacket. "Remember, we're a couple in love, and we're very happy."
"Of course. Happily in love. Very easy."
His eyes searched mine. "If it becomes too much, squeeze my hand twice, I'll extract us."
The same signal from the press conference, an escape route.
"Okay," I said.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "You'll be fine, better than fine. Trust me."
The limousine ride to the gala was quiet. Azryth spent it on his phone, handling last-minute business, I spent it trying not to throw up from anxiety.
The Carlisle Foundation Gala was being held at the Grand Metropolitan Hotel, a building that looked like it was designed to intimidate anyone making under seven figures annually. Red carpet, actual paparazzi with cameras, beautiful people everywhere.
"Remember," Azryth said as the limo pulled up. "Stay close and follow my lead, we'll be fine."
The door opened, and camera flashes exploded like lightning.
Azryth stepped out first, then turned and offered me his hand.
I took it, stepping out into chaos.
"Mr. Valek! Over here!"
"Azryth! Can we get a photo?"
"Who's your date?"
"That's his husband! Riven Kael!"
"Can we get a photo of you together?"
Azryth's arm slipped around my waist, pulling me close, he smiled at the cameras, that practiced, perfect smile that had probably launched a thousand magazine covers.
"Just smile," he murmured in my ear. "Look at me occasionally, let them get their photos."
I smiled and looked up at him, tried to ignore the fact that my heart was hammering and every instinct was screaming to run.
His hand on my waist tightened. Reassuring.
We posed for what felt like an eternity but was probably ninety seconds, then Azryth was guiding me inside, his hand never leaving my back.
The ballroom was exactly as intimidating as I'd feared, crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than my childhood home, tables set with china and silver that looked antique, hundreds of people in expensive clothes making small talk and drinking champagne.
I felt like an imposter, like someone would recognize I didn't belong here and escort me out.
"Riven, breathe," Azryth said quietly. "You look like you're about to pass out again."
"I might pass out, the odds are fifty-fifty."
"Please don't, the press would have a field day."
Several people approached immediately, business associates of Azryth's, they shook hands, made polite conversation, and looked at me with barely concealed curiosity.
"This is my husband, Riven," Azryth introduced me, his hand still possessively on my waist.
I shook hands, smiled, said vague, meaningless things that Patricia had coached me on.
"How did you two meet?" one woman asked, eyes sharp with interest.
"Through work," I said, the practiced answer rolling off my tongue. "It was gradual, friendship that became something more."
"How romantic!" She didn't sound like she believed it. "And the wedding was private?"
"We valued intimacy over spectacle," Azryth said smoothly, pulling me closer. "Some moments are meant to be kept between the people who matter."
The woman smiled, but I could see her filing away every detail for later gossip.
We navigated the room for an hour, meeting people, making small talk, playing the role of devoted couple.
Azryth was perfect at it, introducing me with pride, keeping his hand on me at all times, my back, my arm, my waist, small touches that looked affectionate and possessive.
And the terrifying thing was that it didn't feel entirely like acting, and part of me, the traitorous part that was getting harder to ignore, liked having his attention, his protection, his hand on me.
We were at our assigned table, finally sitting down, when I made the mistake of going to the bathroom alone.
I should have known better, I'd been warned, but I needed a minute to breathe, to process, to remind myself this was all a performance.
I made it out of the stall and was washing my hands when she appeared in the mirror behind me.
A woman, late thirties, expensive dress, camera around her neck, press credentials on a lanyard.
"Riven Kael," she said, not a question.
"That's me." I dried my hands, trying to edge toward the door.
She moved, blocking my exit. "I'm Dana Richardson, investigative journalist, I wanted to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Azryth Valek."
"I'm not doing interviews."
"Just a few questions, off the record." She smiled, but it was predatory. "The timeline of your relationship doesn't quite add up, you were a complete unknown until three weeks ago, and suddenly you're married to one of the most powerful men in the city?"
"We kept our relationship private, that's not a crime."
"But it is unusual." She pulled out her phone, started recording. "Some people are saying this marriage is a business arrangement, a publicity stunt, what do you say to that?"
"I'd say people need better hobbies." I tried to move around her, but she stepped in front of me again.
"There are also questions about the legality of the marriage, some records suggest the wedding happened very quickly, almost overnight, care to comment?"
My heart was hammering, this was bad, this was very bad.
"No comment."
"Come on, Riven, you can talk to me, off the record, what's really going on? Did he pay you to marry him? Is this about immigration status? Corporate restructuring?"
"I said no comment." I tried again to leave, she grabbed my arm.
"Just give me something, anything, my readers want to know—"
"He said no comment."
Azryth's voice cut through the bathroom like a knife, cold and furious.